


Vellichor

by caralilis



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Child Abuse, Growing Up Together, M/M, POV Second Person, Time Skips, all that fun stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-16
Updated: 2017-06-16
Packaged: 2018-11-14 18:16:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11213553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caralilis/pseuds/caralilis
Summary: You’re five years old when you meet him the first time.





	Vellichor

**Author's Note:**

> good lord it's been awhile. have something I wrote literally a year ago.

You’re five years old when you meet him the first time.

You had just opened your bedroom window. It was summertime, and the cool breeze was welcomed. You peeked out, looking upwards. The stars were more visible due to that street lamp going out last week. Wisps of clouds intermingle with the sky, forming their own galaxies on Earth. 

You never thought much about the stars, what lied beyond them, but tonight- you were entranced. 

Another gush of air pushed your curtains back. You leaned forward a little more, gazing upwards in wonder. Another light flickered and died out a little farther down. You turned your attention to it and gape.

Three houses down, just on the other side of the road, sat a boy. He was on the roof, right next to an opened window. His face was turned upwards, his glow-in-the-dark pajamas casting an unnatural green glow. His knees were drawn to his chest, kept close with his arms. The tiny green blobs pulsed on his pajama pants, dimming and brightening in a slow but constant cycle. Even from here, you could see just how fluffy his hair was and the pair of skewed glasses slipping off his nose. If you believed, you’d say he was an alien.

However, you didn’t. Instead you thought to yourself what a weirdo before pulling yourself back in and close the window softly, not wanting to wake your parents.

The next morning you learned that the boy was Oikawa Tooru and had just moved in two days ago.

-

The next time you see him is the first day of school a week later. Your mother ushered you out the door saying ‘don’t forget to pick Tooru-kun along the way!’ before slamming the door shut. You gripped the straps on your backpack and crossed the street. It was the first time you’d be walking to school without your mother, but you were responsible. You had looked both ways and stuck close to the houses rather than the road as you walked to Tooru’s house. He had insisted you called him that when introduced, and you easily complied. It was just name after all.

You stood in front of Tooru’s door, reaching up to knock. The door, however, flung open to reveal a smiling Oikawa-san and a breathless Tooru.

“Hajime-chan! Thank you for taking Tooru with you.” You nodded politely, holding out your hand. Tooru happily grabbed it, sprinting out of his house and dragging you behind him.

He slowed down a block later, instead talking a mile a minute. You tried to keep up, but honestly, the boy talked so fast that his words slurred together, like one long run-on sentence. You nodded along occasionally, pretending to be wrapped up in the story like Tooru. You were still holding hands, and a thought popped up randomly.

Without thinking, you blurted, “We’re strangers.”

Tooru stopped mid-sentence, eyeing you very carefully. “No we’re not,” He spoke confidently, squeezing your hand. “We’re best friends.”

And just like that, you became friends with Oikawa Tooru.

-

You’re ten years old when he tries out volleyball for the first time.

You had just spent the day searching all over the park for any insects to catch. You found a single stag beetle, but released it soon after. Tooru was nowhere to be seen. He preferred to stay inside, rather reading than playing. It’s how he had always been, since the beginning. You weren’t much of a reader yourself, but it was amusing to watch Tooru’s reactions as he did. His hair was always wild and knotted when he tugged a hand through it, chewing on his lower lips as he read page after page. Sometimes he’d burst out laughing, startling you from your nap. He’d then turn the book around, shoving into your face until you took in from his hands and read the scene. Sometimes you’d laugh, and usually you didn’t.

Other times you’d look up from your doodles and see Tooru crying. His glasses would sit low on his nose, his wet eyelashes brushing against them. The tears were silent, unlike how he usually cried. Only a quiet sniffle would alert you, but it’d be waved off as ‘the book Hajime, it’s just-you know.’ And you would nod in response, even though you didn’t know. You didn’t know why he was crying over a book of all things, when it wasn’t real. You didn’t understand Tooru’s attachment to characters or his emotional outbursts. You didn’t, but you pretended you did.

So when he came to the park at sunset with a ball tucked safely under his arm, you’re shocked. You didn’t expect to see Tooru at all, let alone with a volleyball instead of a book. For a moment he stood there, smiling. And it seemed natural- like he had been playing the sport for years and ingrained with the blood sweat and tears that came with it. But then he threw the ball up into the air and swung his arm wildly, shattering the illusion.

You and Tooru practiced whenever you could. You set down your net and pick up a ball- brand new, pristine and white. You started drawing less and Tooru admits he hasn’t picked up a book in months. It’s not a bad thing, he said, just different. 

And different it was. You’re not used to your hand swelling pink, or your legs begging for a break. You’re not used to sore muscles and sweaty faces. You’re not used to it, but neither is Tooru. You're both tired and weak, and you both complained daily about the pain. Together, you practiced day in and day out, planning to try for the school team. Together, you pushed each to the limits, then just a little past.

Together, you two developed a love for the sport deep in your veins.

-

It was summer again, making it eight years since you saw the boy on the roof. You never mentioned it, instead pretending that you had never seen him before in your life until the morning you were introduced. You did that a lot now- pretend. Even though it’s Tooru who hid behind the smiles and lies (which you berate him about), it was you who pretended that everything is fine, when it is so clearly not.

Your father was never home now, but he never really was before either. Your mother, however, was not home anymore, but you pretend like that’s normal as well. You went to Tooru’s house, where you were welcomed with warm hugs and kisses, instead of dark hallways and empty rooms.

\- 

He knew. You knew he knew. Yet, he never asked you anything, instead filling the silence with small talk about his day. You zoned out halfway through as always- but this time, you’re nothing short of thankful as his soft voice lulls you to sleep.

And when school rolled around, you were out of the house as well. You spent all your time focusing on studying and preparing for tryouts. Tooru will make the team, you know he will- but something sat on your chest. It pressed down, choking you a little. 

The feeling lifted when you make it, but practice is harder than you thought. Your arms were constantly sore, and permanent bruises littered your legs. Your stomach contracts painfully when you move, and your lungs constantly burn.

But he was different. Tooru flourished, as you knew he would, and he’s the starting setter by the end of the year. He never complained, always staying on everyone’s good side. He got along with everyone, and everyone gets along with him.

He slowly learned to live without you.

It left a bitter taste in your mouth.

-

Home wasn’t quiet anymore.

The whir of the AC was now masked by the screams and broken dishes. The doors groaned loudly when they're slammed, the whole exterior shuddering with it. Empty hallways were filled with anguished cries and enraged yelling. You, in comparison, become silent.

You no longer left your room to escape to Tooru’s- he was probably out on a date anyways. Instead you crawled under your covers, grabbing a tattered book Tooru never finished to disappear from this realm.

And when the stars were especially bright one night, you wrenched the curtains close.

-

You’re fifteen years old when he comes back to you.

Practice had ended hours ago; you walked into the gym to retrieve an overworked Tooru when you see Kageyama approach the older setter. He asked for help- he wants to learn how to jump serve. You couldn’t blame him. Tooru is great, serving with both strength and accuracy. A perfect weapon; who wouldn’t want to have it?

But despite the impossibly wide chasm that formed between you two, you still managed to deciphered the sharp intake of breath. It meant trouble. 

You sprinted over, catching Tooru’s arm: it’s raised, poised to hit the young boy in front of him. His blue eyes were large with shock and fear. Tooru’s were the same, but hidden under a shaky veil of anger. He used that to lash out at you, but you returned with a headbutt. It was the only way you ever got him to listen to you, anyways.

You screamed at him. You didn’t mean to- you were just so overwhelmed. Tooru was too- his body shook as you clung to his shirt, soaked with sweat and blood. But you hung on, lecturing him. Because that’s what you did. And no matter how high Tooru drifted up, you would stay rooted, grounding him when it became too much. But you didn’t know that even your own feet were shaky the ground, wishing to jump into the stars with him. 

And when you walked Tooru home for the first time in months, he turned to you and pointed to his rooftop. “Wanna join me?”

You agreed hesitantly. Tooru smiled brilliantly, grabbing your hand in excitement, and soon you’re both sprawled out on the cool, rough shingles, arguing about who was prettier; Sakura from 2-A, or Misaki from 1-C?

You’d never admit Tooru would be more beautiful than both of them.

-

Without school, you were trapped. 

You’ve read all the books in your room. Now you roamed restlessly, a caged animal with nowhere to be let out. The hatch was unlocked, door wide open, and yet-

You kept yourself chained, turning your back to the the exit and picking up another worn book.

-

You couldn’t remember the last time you called Tooru by his first name. It rolled off your tongue like praise, fell from your lips like prayer, caught in your throat as apology, and threatened to tumble out every time they talked. 

It was just name; and yet, it was something much, much more. 

-

You’re seventeen when he stops reading.

You noticed it awhile back. He no longer came to your house, arms piled high with books of varying wearness. His eyes no longer lit up when talking about an assigned school reading, exclaiming about how he’d been waiting years to read it. Your own set (compiled from Tooru’s) also diminished to a single book. Dog-eared and frayed beyond belief, it is without a doubt your favorite. Though when Tooru first bought it, you had no idea what it was saying. 

But years of English classes taught you enough to be able to pick up the novel and understand the rows and rows of tiny little letters inside small words and big big paragraphs. You understood the words and even enjoyed them. The story however, proved to be quite....incomprehensible.

Not that it wasn’t a good story. No, it’s the opposite really- it was phenomenal. 

Amidst the 1920s, it was a story of action, of consequence, of lust and of love. It was the story of heartbreak and reconciliation, of parties and affairs, and of broken people fixing their broken lives. It was a fictional story, but it hit close to home. 

You always stopped just before the ending. 

-

Tooru was now Oikawa. And Assikawa. And Idiot and Dumbass and whatever insult you could come up with. Hanamaki and Matsukawa were Makki and Mattsun. And you- you were Iwa-chan. 

Always, always Iwa-chan. 

Sometimes, on the nights void of any stars, you wondered what it would be like to be Hajime once more. 

-

You’re seventeen when you lose him a second time. 

It was your fault. If you had just hit a little harder, aimed just a little better, pushed a little farther. If you had just trusted him-

The game ends, and life as you know it comes crashing down. 

-

People always assumed Oikawa had destructive personality. But he wasn’t the one littered with fresh scars and broken memories.

He wasn’t the one at home, taking the punch for his mother. His mother, who never quite looked him in the eye. 

He wasn’t the one hiding under his covers like some child, because it was far safer there than anywhere else. Because when the blankets were pulled off, he wouldn’t be the one met with the stench of cheap beer and expensive drugs. 

He wasn’t the one cowering. He wasn't the one suffering. He wasn't the one in pain. 

The gnarled, ugly emotion in your chest rooted itself deeper, and hatred burned in your veins. 

You were seventeen, and your best friend was the person you despised the most. You were just seventeen, and your first love was twisted into a vile, disgusting emotion not even you could control. 

-

The last nights in your house pass quickly. Your father was gone once more, no doubt hiding low in a motel. It seemed his addiction had finally caught up to him. Your mother became the violent one in turn.

It was one thing to take a beating from your failure of a father. It was a whole other beast when it was your mother. 

She was vicious. Years of pent up frustration and fear and anger began to pour out. Anything in reach was aimed at your head, and her nails always found your skin. She was cruel, always apologizing in the morning, pleading for you to understand, to forgive her please Hajime-

You no longer slept in your home. You slept in a morgue. 

And it was only a matter of time until she put you in the grave. 

-

You’re twenty years old when you meet Tooru for the last time. 

You went off to college in that time, and were working towards your Bachelor’s. You had found a girl who loved you dearly and never hurt you. You had erased the past from your mind, and forgotten the people who occupied it. 

But when a pair of hazel eyes stared back at you, everything came rushing back. 

-

Tooru had invited you out to dinner to ‘catch up on old times.’ You agreed with reluctance. That gut wrenching feeling was rekindled at the sight of his limp, so slight you almost thought you imagined it. 

He was taller, far taller than before. His hair was longer too, just brushing the nape of his neck. His face was defined in a way that only comes with age. He was handsome, and you felt sick. 

Tooru talked about his time in college and playing professionally. He chatted about his girlfriends and boyfriends, who never stayed longer than a year or so. He mention Hanamaki and Matsukawa, who were happily married in America. He talked on and on, never once asking about you. 

-

Tooru swore you were never to find out. 

Your mother had passed a year prior, after struggling with the loss of her bastard husband, who, for some reason, she loved. A heart attack, the doctor said. A broken heart, the neighbors sighed. A broken woman, you decide. 

It didn’t hurt as much as you thought it would. Of course the loss stung, as would any, but you felt almost...detached. As if it were someone else’s mother who died, and not your own. 

You wonder if she even thought of you in her last moments. 

Tooru’s expression was enough for you not to ask. 

-

A year passes, and you two stay in touch. You call him Tooru once more, and he calls you Hajime. It feels natural, a long awaited breath of air you gulp down. Your mother left a will behind and entrusted it to Tooru; within it gave you the deed to the house and the wish for your happiness. It wasn’t the apology you wanted, but the anger and scars subsided to a dull ache. 

You moved back into the house, but it’s too big for just you. Tooru decided he would become your roommate, and together you live peacefully. Well, as peaceful as it could get with two men who can’t quite get along. 

Tooru picked up reading again, after discovering your mangled copy of The Great Gatsby. You finally read the ending of it; it’s horrible, and you wished you never made that mistake. Tooru laughs at your tears. It was quite the sense of deja vu. 

Slowly, ever so slowly, you piece your life back together. You confront your father’s grave and mother’s ashes. You tear out every single item in the house that reminds you of the past and replaced them. You tell Tooru everything, from start to finish, until the tears run out and the weight on your chest disperses. In turn, he sits down next you and holds your hand. 

-

You’re twenty-two when he tells you the truth. 

That two years ago, it wasn’t chance you two met up. 

That five years ago, it wasn’t your fault the team lost. 

That seven years ago, it wasn’t Sakura he liked. 

That ten years ago, it wasn’t your fault your father hit you. 

That twelve years ago, it wasn’t volleyball he was fascinated with. 

That seventeen whole years ago, it wasn’t just you who noticed a beautiful boy star-gazing in wonder. 

And at twenty-two, you, Iwaizumi Hajime, fell in love once more, with both the boy and man with the glow-in-dark alien pajamas, who wasn’t quite human. 

You could almost think he was an alien.


End file.
